The Law
(An Ode for Habib Jalib)
The law that constricts a woman to her home,
turns her into a paid-for whore,
prevents man from loving men,
and obstructs their dietary regimen,
such a law, on this murky dawn,
I cannot accept.
Where my speech carries more hate
than the worst, and won’t abate
come what I do, as prisons are filled
with under-trial lovers, if not killed,
such a law, on this murky dawn,
I cannot accept.
You say the kites are in flight again,
it is spring, the cold reign of the dark at an end,
you say that we have prospered beyond count
even as village trees are laden, with more than just fruit.
such a lie, on this murky dawn,
I won’t accept.
I won’t say that I am not scared of the prison,
for it is no longer run by a power that would listen
to reason, or believe in any dignity,
but knows naked power, all cruelty,
such a law, on this murky dawn,
I won’t accept.
You have plundered us for hundreds of years,
put us in systems of margins, and gushing tears,
where the mighty and many rule the weak and few,
this evacuation of body and mind, to curfew,
on this murky dawn, with its law,
I won’t accept.
(First published in Ghazalnama.)
Read all the articles in the Art of Resistance series here.